


we'll meet again

by canniballistics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a hot August night, one of the last of the summer, and Bucky swears that most all the windows in the whole of Brooklyn must be open, if not all of New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll meet again

**Author's Note:**

> Title's taken from We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn; originally they were supposed to end up dancing to it, but the story went a different way.
> 
>  
> 
> written for my lovely friend seven, and posted with her permission! ♥

It's a hot August night, one of the last of the summer, and Bucky swears that most all the windows in the whole of Brooklyn must be open, if not all of New York. The sounds of the city carry easily to their third floor window, and if it wasn't likely to fry him like a fish, he'd probably be out on the fire escape instead. Anything to get out of the suffocating heat of the room, but there's nowhere to go and nothing to do about it other than be thankful they're not higher up in the tenement building, where the smoke and smog rises up and tends to choke the sky.

Steve's hunched over the desk with his sketchbook while Bucky slouches across the windowsill, sweating out what must be the entirety of his body's water content. Down to his singlet and trousers, suspenders down from his shoulders and hanging uselessly at his sides, he wonders just when it became strange for the two of them to get down to skivvies together. It'd sure be more comfortable, but at some point in their growing up, things between them changed, different from the boys who used to swim together completely starkers. All honesty, he misses those times, but they're grown now; he's man enough to recognize that there'd be something off about it. Just another part of growing up.

( Doesn't mean it doesn't sit heavy in his gut, though: the quiet nostalgia for simpler times long past, and the even quieter longing for something he can't name. Something to do with Steve, sweet and full of wonder. )

He glances over at the desk every few minutes or so, can't quite imagine just how Steve's managing it: he's still got his shirt on, buttoned most of the ways up but for maybe one or two at the top. His hair's fine, unlike Bucky's, which looks like someone's dumped a pot of water on him, and Bucky bets that if he leaned in close Steve'd still smell like soap and Listerine, instead of the fine sheen of sweat Bucky can feel coming off him like a monsoon.

"How're you not hot? Is'at even possible?" Bucky complains idly as he looks at him from over the curve of his arm.

Steve just shrugs. "It's hot enough. I'm just not mindin' it like you are." He glances up from whatever he's drawing to grin at him. "'sides, you're always full'a hot air. Better watch out you don't overheat and explode."

There's an indignant laugh at that. "Promise if I do, I'll get all over the walls and into the cracks, so you'll never get rid of me long as you live." 

"Gross! Who'd wanna be stuck with _you_?" 

Their laughter fills the room, and strangely enough, he feels better after that. They settle back down, Bucky once again staring out over the fire escape to the city below and Steve sketching, and he almost manages to doze off when strains of a song reach his ears. It's a pretty melody, a little bit sad. He can't make out the lyrics, but he swears he's heard it somewhere before. He's so intent on trying to figure out what song it is that at first, he doesn't notice the quiet, off-key accompaniment. It's closer than the original music, and after a moment, Bucky realizes that it's Steve, unconsciously singing under his breath. His eyes widen just a little as he looks over at him, watches and listens for just a second before he sees Steve start to move. Quick to look back out the window then, unsure why but suddenly embarrassed by the way his heart has started to thud in his chest, by the fondness that blooms and fills his entire self. He just doesn't want Steve to catch him watching, doesn't want him to stop singing, he tells himself. So he pretends to be engrossed with a fluttering curtain in the window across the alley, hopes that the pounding of his heartbeat isn't audible when he notices Steve glancing over at him in his peripheral vision. 

It's a lingering look, the pencil in his hand stilling as his voice quiets, and Bucky freezes in place. Wonders what Steve's doing, why he's looking at him, and after a few seconds that feel like forever, he goes back to his drawing. Bucky can't help feeling a little disappointed with how anticlimactic it is, but it's probably for the best if Steve doesn't find out about the things bubbling through him; namely, the way he kind of wants to pull him out of the seat and dance with him before the song ends. He recognizes it now, probably wouldn't have before Steve started singing along, and just when he thinks he might've worked up the courage to ask, the music fades away, replaced with something a little more fast-paced. In this heat, it'd probably kill Steve if he tried dancing to that. So he keeps it to himself, decides he's gonna flip through Steve's sketchbook to find his answer, and finally ends up dozing off at the windowsill instead.

Steve wakes him up a little while later, hands covered in charcoal and lead dust. "C'mon, y'big lug. You're gonna get sick, you sleep hanging out the window like that. Mrs. Fredericks says she's got some spare water we can use to cool down if we want. You should go grab a washcloth and hit the hay."

He stretches, yawns. Doesn't feel like pointing out that he's healthy enough for the two of them ( and would trade it all if it meant Steve would be too ), so Bucky nods as he sits up. "Yeah, might be a good idea. Awful nice of her to offer." The temptation to sling an arm around Steve's shoulders almost takes him, but he thinks better of it at the last second; might not earn him any points to shove his smelly pits in the guy's face. So instead, he grins as he musses his hand through Steve's hair. "And you're comin' with me. Can't have you gettin' sick from stewing in your own juices like we've been doin' all night."

Steve scowls, but Bucky refuses to have it as he protests. His arguments are weak and they both know it, so he gives up after a couple minutes, and they go to grab a couple of washcloths from the bathroom. By the time the door clicks shut behind them, Bucky's forgotten all about peeking through Steve's sketchbook, misses the carefully rendered figure drawn in delicate detail across the page, slouched across what looks like a windowsill.


End file.
